PASSION AND PUMPKINS
CASS WEBSTER SHUT the door on the last of her sisters with a decisive click and sternly ordered the house to behave itself. Naturally, the stately Victorian, still on an architectural high from having four powerful witchy whirlwinds over for brunch, completely ignored her. Doors and cupboards flapped, drawers opened and closed, and the lights flickered out a rhythm that might have been a samba.
Feeling headachy and tight with pent-up magic, Cass sank into her favorite overstuffed chair and rubbed her temples.
A week of peace and quiet, at last.
It had taken every last ounce of stubbornness to convince the girls that joining them for the annual Halloween clan reunion in Ireland was a bad idea. Her powers were still too new, too uncontrollable, and all Cass wanted was to make bats out of construction paper with her third-graders, lounge on the porch swing with a mug of hot cider and a good book, and daydream about a certain sexy, green-eyed neighbor down the block.
Thinking about the reunion, Cass shuddered. The clan was huge – a crazy and powerful blend of witches and warlocks, half-fairies, elves, goblins, and so forth, who all descended on a crumbling Irish castle for a week of revelry away from oblivious mortals along with their spouses, friends, and significant whatevers. It was loud, bawdy, and they couldn’t get through the week without at least one orgy or someone being set on fire or turned into a butter churn or something equally problematic. Cass loved her extended family, but a small dose went a long way.
Brooding, Cass took a deep breath and attempted to conjure up a cup of tea.
SNAP!
A teabag and a frying pan plopped into her lap and she sighed.
I suppose that’s progress.
Cass had grown up without powers, which was a great source of humiliation for the shy little girl and the family at large. Her sisters alternately tormented her and stood up for her – seemingly a full mortal, she made an easy target. Cass wrinkled her nose, remembering nasty hexes and humiliating transformations. The goat incident had been the worst. Her father was baffled and upset, but her mother just patted her knee and reassured her – it would all work itself out eventually. Cass grew up not fitting in anywhere, having to hide her family’s secret from the world, but not being able to relate to the thrill of great power at her fingertips. And so she did her best to carve out a perfectly normal life for herself. She loved being a teacher, she loved her little New England village, and aside from the occasional family magical disaster, life was blessedly ordinary.
Until the incident.
Two weeks ago, on a frigid morning, Cass had been making breakfast and listening to the sound of Tom Owens chopping firewood in his backyard a few houses down. One moment she was dreamily thinking about the hard muscles of his shoulders under a thin t-shirt as he hefted the axe, about how those gorgeous rough hands would feel on the sensitive flesh between her thighs, and the next moment – POP! – she was standing ten feet behind him, in her pajamas, holding a tea kettle. Completely shocked, she’d rushed home before he could spot her and called her family in an absolute panic.
They were thrilled. Beyond thrilled. Her mother couldn’t stop crying, and her father gruffly informed her that he always knew she had it in her. Her sisters had been celebrating ever since.
Cass, on the other hand, was spooked. Once the door was opened, her being was flooded with magic that she had almost no control over, that worsened when she was upset or emotional. Her sisters were dismissive, reassuring her that it just took practice, and ready to drag her off to magic-soaked revelry in Ireland. Cass dug her heels in. This was a small community, with everyone in everyone else’s business. She had a hard enough time explaining away the occasional magical nonsense that inevitably occurred when her family visited. Now all she wanted was
CASS WEBSTER SHUT the door on the last of her sisters with a decisive click and sternly ordered the house to behave itself. Naturally, the stately Victorian, still on an architectural high from having four powerful witchy whirlwinds over for brunch, completely ignored her. Doors and cupboards flapped, drawers opened and closed, and the lights flickered out a rhythm that might have been a samba.
Feeling headachy and tight with pent-up magic, Cass sank into her favorite overstuffed chair and rubbed her temples.
A week of peace and quiet, at last.
It had taken every last ounce of stubbornness to convince the girls that joining them for the annual Halloween clan reunion in Ireland was a bad idea. Her powers were still too new, too uncontrollable, and all Cass wanted was to make bats out of construction paper with her third-graders, lounge on the porch swing with a mug of hot cider and a good book, and daydream about a certain sexy, green-eyed neighbor down the block.
Thinking about the reunion, Cass shuddered. The clan was huge – a crazy and powerful blend of witches and warlocks, half-fairies, elves, goblins, and so forth, who all descended on a crumbling Irish castle for a week of revelry away from oblivious mortals along with their spouses, friends, and significant whatevers. It was loud, bawdy, and they couldn’t get through the week without at least one orgy or someone being set on fire or turned into a butter churn or something equally problematic. Cass loved her extended family, but a small dose went a long way.
Brooding, Cass took a deep breath and attempted to conjure up a cup of tea.
SNAP!
A teabag and a frying pan plopped into her lap and she sighed.
I suppose that’s progress.
Cass had grown up without powers, which was a great source of humiliation for the shy little girl and the family at large. Her sisters alternately tormented her and stood up for her – seemingly a full mortal, she made an easy target. Cass wrinkled her nose, remembering nasty hexes and humiliating transformations. The goat incident had been the worst. Her father was baffled and upset, but her mother just patted her knee and reassured her – it would all work itself out eventually. Cass grew up not fitting in anywhere, having to hide her family’s secret from the world, but not being able to relate to the thrill of great power at her fingertips. And so she did her best to carve out a perfectly normal life for herself. She loved being a teacher, she loved her little New England village, and aside from the occasional family magical disaster, life was blessedly ordinary.
Until the incident.
Two weeks ago, on a frigid morning, Cass had been making breakfast and listening to the sound of Tom Owens chopping firewood in his backyard a few houses down. One moment she was dreamily thinking about the hard muscles of his shoulders under a thin t-shirt as he hefted the axe, about how those gorgeous rough hands would feel on the sensitive flesh between her thighs, and the next moment – POP! – she was standing ten feet behind him, in her pajamas, holding a tea kettle. Completely shocked, she’d rushed home before he could spot her and called her family in an absolute panic.
They were thrilled. Beyond thrilled. Her mother couldn’t stop crying, and her father gruffly informed her that he always knew she had it in her. Her sisters had been celebrating ever since.
Cass, on the other hand, was spooked. Once the door was opened, her being was flooded with magic that she had almost no control over, that worsened when she was upset or emotional. Her sisters were dismissive, reassuring her that it just took practice, and ready to drag her off to magic-soaked revelry in Ireland. Cass dug her heels in. This was a small community, with everyone in everyone else’s business. She had a hard enough time explaining away the occasional magical nonsense that inevitably occurred when her family visited. Now all she wanted was
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